Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

“Thank you, Sundance Film Festival, thank you. You know, being here in Colorado–”

“Utah.”

“–reminds me of time I spent in the Himalayas with a group of rogue Sherpa. They had been exiled from the Sherpa community for not fitting in: some were afraid of heights, others had simply had it with climbing mountains. One guy, Dorjee? he liked to fish.

“One kid, Tashi? Just wanted to be a lifeguard. Guess she saw it in a magazine or something as a kid and fixated on it. Made us call her Jen because that was going to be her name when she got to Florida.

“Now, she knew as well as anyone that Sherpa can’t go to sea level: they over-pressurize and shoot their lungs out their nostrils; a bunch of stuff comes out of their butts, as well.

“Let Jen dream, dammit!”

“Mickey, get to the point.”

“Anyway, I was mountaineering in the Himalayas to learn the Ungu’ugnu rhythm of the Lost Tribe of Kandak. Well, they weren’t lost: they kept admirable records. The Kandak had lived in the high valleys on the Roof of the World for thousands of years when, one morning at the meeting, Jenkins from accounting asked why they didn’t move someplace just a bit warmer.

“And, tell the truth: it was like a dam breaking. Everyone in the tribe who was at the meeting (so: not Ferguson, of course) exploded with complaints about living in such a cold and icy environment: the cost of heating oil, not being able to display one’s gym bod, the Wampa attacks.

“That day, the entire tribe–you know: extended family after extended family–packed their shit and started walking south.

“And, Sundance Film Festival: that is the story of how Mexico was founded.”

“Dammit, Mickey: did you steal my pills?”

“They’re not your pills; they’re mine. I stole ’em from you fair and square.”